


Dane II - The Bearing

by sunwisecircles



Series: The Cherished Child [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 14:38:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3385415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunwisecircles/pseuds/sunwisecircles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Again, strictly headcanon. Not lore-abiding. The first child for the King and Queen of Ferelden. Who would have thought it? Physical, emotional and political ramifications. The taint has been removed by enchanter-savant, Sandal Feddic, allowing for royal heirs and adding to the nation's fragile stability. For Ferelden!</p><p>This is my first foray into explicit fic. <br/>* I'm now making the explicit bits in italics for those who like the stories but not the explicitness* <br/>If any of this is physically impossible, who cares? Sorry to those who looked and only got the first little bit of the story. I should do more work on them BEFORE posting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dane II - The Bearing

Sorcha took several deep breaths to try and calm what seemed like an unwarranted fear. She was in a cave of sorts; small, barely enough room for her, with walls and floor slick with moisture. The only way out led into a tunnel, with the other end visible but somehow obstructed. There was a reddish glow and flickering light reflected off the walls. An occasional silhouette passed between what she assumed was a campfire and the farther tunnel entrance. It seemed more than likely they were bandits or a mercenary group settling in for the night.

The question that still poked at her with cold fingers was simply, why was she so scared? She had weapons with her and a skill set that would enable her to cloak herself and pass unseen. She tried to move forward; get a better idea of what she was facing, but her feet refused. She had to get out of there. Away from what Alistair called the screaming meemies.

Panic was starting to rise; heart thumping in her mouth and she would soon be screaming. Sorcha’s heart seemed suddenly to stop altogether as she was pushed forcefully towards the brighter passage. She almost yelped, biting it back by biting her lip; trying to wrestle some semblance of calm into her spinning mind. The cave was too small to admit a second person and there were no other openings. She dropped into a crouch, trying to gain some traction on the slippery floor. There was nothing for her to brace herself against and with another heave, she was suddenly thrust out of the room and into the tunnel.

Sorcha snapped out of sleep and into a fight for her life. Her arms were flailing and she was trying to get her feet under her in an effort to heave herself up and back, away from the tunnel. There was someone wrestling with her; pinning her arms to her side and using their superior weight to swamp her frantic struggling.

“Enough, Sorcha. It’s all right. It’s all right. Only a dream.”

The crooning, soothing voice went on until it started to impose itself on her panic stricken wits. She followed the sound until she recognised her surroundings; found herself wrapped in her husband’s arms as he rocked her back and forth.

“Alistair?” Her voice was croaky; the words slurring.

“Mmmhmm.”

“I woke you up?”

He chuckled and smiled into her hair. “Shame on you.”

Sorcha moved around so she could wrap her arms around Alistair’s neck.

“What were you dreaming about?”

“It was nothing, Alistair.”

“You woke up fighting with something. Something that scared you.”

“Me? Scared? I killed an archdemon . . . owww!”

Alistair gave her a sharp smack on her arse. “What were you dreaming about – bronto?”

Now Sorcha started to struggle out from his arms, Alistair laughing openly. He flipped her over easily and pinned her down with his weight. Though she still felt rough and drained from the nightmare her reaction was as unstoppable as it was instinctive; her hips pushing forward against his leg.

“Ah, ah, ah. None of that now, wanton. Your dream.”

_His voice deepened, taking on a caressing, lustful tone. His face was close to hers; warm breath fanning against her neck, just behind her ear. One hand was on her belly, the thumb rubbing up and down over her navel._

_“Oh fine, but you’re being distracting.” She felt his cock move against her hip. “And that’s not helping.”_

_He nipped her ear and started running the tip of his tongue in the crease between ear and neck. The hand on her belly moved up underneath one breast and stopped._

_“Focus.”_

_“After.”_

_“Now.”_

_“Have I ever told you how much I hate you?”_

_“Constantly.”_

_“All right. I was hiding in a small cave. There were bandits camped just outside. The cave began shrinking and pushed me out.”_

_Alistair’s murmur was full of lust, but he moved to look into the dark smudges of her eyes. “That’s all?”_

_“Maker, yes. Alistair, please.”_

_He shifted his weight, bringing his questing mouth down on her impatient one. He plunged his tongue into her running it along hers, along the roof of her mouth and around her teeth. One hand was clenched in her hair, the other hand moved up onto her breast the palm skimming over her taut nipple. He pulled his tongue from her greedy mouth and traced light kisses along her jaw; along her hair line, gently kissing her eyelids, then to the bridge of her nose, nipping all the way down before moving once more onto her lips and down her neck, lingering on her pulse._

_The hand on her breast moved down over her belly onto her mound, massaging it and then sliding between her lips opening her up; luxuriating in her hot stickiness. He brought his leg up between hers, holding her open with his fingers and she began to rub up and down on him. He transferred his juice sticky fingers to her mouth where she sucked on them like an infant imbibing mother’s milk._

_Alistair’s tongue snaked from Sorcha’s neck across her collarbone and into the crease of her armpit. He nudged her insistently until she raised her arm and he pressed his tongue, mouth and face into the soft sensitive skin. He moved on along the underside of her arm, into the crease of her elbow, and then her wrist. He licked, kissed and bit her palm and fingertips._

_With her free hand, Sorcha scraped down Alistair’s back; hard enough to leave marks but not enough to scratch or score his skin. She hooked a hand around his thigh and pulled him to bring his arse closer to her reach. He coiled around and her fingers were able to insinuate themselves into his cleft, pulling him further apart and running them back and forth across his anus._

_He moved his hand from the breast he was revelling in, removing hers from his arse and placing it on his hard, heavy dick. Using a leg for leverage, Sorcha pushed him over onto his back and pivoted so that her bum was in his face. He grabbed her hips to pull her closer, but all her lust was now pinpointed in getting his blood-engorged member into her mouth. She pulled back and shoved her face into his gut, just above the strawberry blonde pubic curls, while his cock was rubbing in her hair. Supporting herself with one hand she took his dick in the other, guiding it; leaving hot trails of pre-cum over her face and neck._

_Alistair grabbed her thighs and hoisted her higher. The sight of his wife swallowing his dick and fondling his balls; all framed by her thighs, arse, twat and tits was almost more pleasure than he could stand. She had him writhing. With a guttural noise, somewhere between a growl and a moan, he pulled himself out from under her, grabbed her hips and pulled her onto his aching cock. One hand held her shoulder, the other twisted round so he could rub her clit and mound. He pushed into her and she pushed back. He rode her hard and rhythmically. The muscles of her vagina clenching and releasing then began fluttering; he heard her whimpers of desire and pleasure deepen and knew she was almost there. His balls were tight and hard._

_“Alistair!”_

_“I know!”_

_“Alistair!”_

_He felt her begin to orgasm and before giving way to his own. Hot cum gushed into her as she pushed and heaved and at last, trembling; fell onto Alistair’s legs. She kissed his knee; heard a smug, satisfied chuckle and moved so that he was cradling her._

“Alistair?”

“Mmmhmm?”

“I love you.”

“I know.”

“Alistair?”

“Sorcha. . . “

“Your kisses are like hot honey trickled over my body. Sweet, burning, with the memory lingering for days on my skin.”

“What? This isn’t like you.”

She snuggled closer. “I know. But you always say such wonderful things to me and I wanted to say this to you. It needed to be said.”

“Thank you.”

“Mmmm.”

Unbeknownst to the now, sleepy couple, one of Alistair’s seeds had found a fertile patch in Sorcha’s womb and buried itself deep.

*******

Sorcha, feeling rather sorry for herself, stumbled back out of the privy, having thrown up for the third time that day. Alistair had already left by the time she managed to drag herself out of bed and tried to dress. Her chemise lay on the floor where she dropped it after the first bout of vomiting. Climbing back into bed, she fossicked about for a comfortable position and pulled the covers up to her chin.

The bedchamber door creaked open. She heard footsteps, dropped books, soft swearing and then the bed sank as Alistair sat beside her. She pulled the covers over her head. Alistair tried to pull the covers away from her face, but Sorcha just jerked them back up.

“Leave me alone.” Her voice was muffled and petulant.

Alistair sighed. “What’s wrong brat? We missed you at the meeting with Grand Cleric Hariclea.”

“You should have just told her I was hungover.” Her voice was muffled and just as petulant.

“Hah. No, she would have enjoyed that too much.” He tried once again to pull the covers from her head and this time she let him.

“I don’t feel well Alistair.”

“Obviously. Is it that chest infection again or something else? Because that was disgusting with the running nose and the coughing. . .“

“Shut up”. Sorcha managed a watery smile. “It’s something else I think. Every time I move I feel like I’m going to be sick.”

“Lovejoy?” There was a warning note in his voice.

“Fine.” She shot him a sideways glance. “I’ll behave.”

Lovejoy was the palace physician. He made himself available to them after the destruction of the archdemon, when Alistair and Zevran had helped her walk (stumble) down from the top of Fort Drakon. He was a healer mage and grey warden and the only person likely to subdue this recalcitrant patient. Sorcha’s joke was weak at best, but the fact that his wife was willing to agree to a visit from a physician, was enough to unsettle Alistair’s self-assurance.

He dropped a kiss on her forehead; it was cool enough on his lips. He grinned at her and threw the covers back over her face. She pulled them down long enough to poke her tongue out at him before burying herself again.

“Temptress.”

Muffled noises, but not so petulant as before.

Alistair strode down the gallery and into bustle of the palace proper. He was impatient to have repairs to the private family wing finished so that the private life he loved and the public life he tolerated could be more separate. The new wing would be a very large Do Not Disturb sign. Avoiding eye contact with nobles, couriers, doom-sayers, social-climbers, petitioners and chantry representatives, Alistair scanned the ante-chamber for Toby, Ser Huegin’s young nephew and runner extraordinaire. The boy had an uncanny ability to be in sight of the King when he was needed and nowhere to be found when he wasn’t. As expected Toby appeared silently at Alistair’s elbow.

“Go find Master Lovejoy and let him know he’s wanted. And, what was that tea we had for the Queen when she was disgusting?”

Toby grinned. “It was greyroot, your Majesty.”

“Go to the kitchens and get them to send some up. If they have any sugared wafers in there, grab one for yourself.”

“Thank you, your Majesty.” Toby sketched a bow and was about to run off, when the King hissed in his ear.

“Let’s not mention to the Queen what I said.” Toby saluted and continued on his way.

*******

Alistair was seated on the bed rubbing his wife’s back and talking to her in a quiet way. He looked up as the Master Lovejoy poked his head in the door. The physician came close to the bed as Alistair moved aside to give him room. Sorcha remained stubborn with the covers up over her head. She could hear them discussing her and couldn’t find the energy to care. If the healer could make the nausea go away it would be worth swallowing a little pride.

“Madam, I need to examine you, so you’ll need to remove the bed clothes.”

Her eyes appeared giving Lovejoy a warning glare before they flicked to her husband, lounging against the wall. The royal eyebrow racked up a notch in response. Sorcha threw the covers off revealing the fine linen drawers and . . .

"That’s my shirt!” Alistair sounded aggrieved.

His wife batted her eyelashes and pouted him a kiss.

“Of all the . . . “ he pointed a finger at her. “You are not getting out of this so easily, missy.”

Sorcha shot him a look that had an obvious double dare you challenge.

“Majesties, please if I may?” Lovejoy intervened. Sorcha rolled onto her back, making faces as she did.

“Don’t you dare throw up on my shirt.”

Lovejoy took his staff and held it loosely in his hands. Moving head to foot, he ran the staff horizontally over her body, focussing his attention through the polished wood. On the third pass the instrument began to jig and skitter in his hands. He moved the shirt aside and once again positioned the staff over the Queen, this time vertically, and began the same procedure over her belly.

“Hello there. You were hiding well, weren’t you?” Lovejoy straightened his back and moved away a little stretching his muscles after being stooped.

 The King’s voice interrupted his ministrations.“So, what is it? What’s wrong?”

“Wrong?” Lovejoy’s face lit up with a smile. “Absolutely nothing your Majesty. I found a very small, strong life essence. You’re pregnant Madam. Congratulations.”

The two of them stared at him open-mouthed.

“I, but. I. . . what? Alistair?”

Alistair’s face was shining. “Really?” he spat out an incredulous chuckle. “Wait. Lovejoy, really?”

“Yes your Majesty. Really. And from the levels of life force I felt, madam, you are around a month, month and a half along. So your son should be due around mid to late winter.”

“Our. . . our? Alistair?”

He burst out laughing, a joyous and infectious peal. “Oh Master Lovejoy – I think she’s feeling just a little gob-smacked, as am I. After all, this is something we hadn't thought was possible.”

“Lovejoy!” the Queen claimed his attention. “You’re saying that I am pregnant with Alistair’s and my _son_? How do you know our. . .” she took a deep breath. “Our child is a _boy_?”

“The life essence I felt is definitely masculine. For such a tiny thing, the life is strong.”

“Alistair?” he moved to her side. “Alistair, we made a baby!” Her face was glowing, her eyes shiny and deep, dark green.

“I know, it’s. . .”

Sorcha stuck her head over the edge of the bed and promptly threw up over her husband’s boots.

“…revolting. Errrr. Wife vomit on my boots! Yeuccchh!”

“Pregnant wife vomit.” She amended.

Still more horrified noises came from behind the screens as Alistair dragged off the noisome boots and sluiced them with a bucket of water. Lovejoy offered the Queen a sip of wine, telling her it would settle her stomach for now. He would put together a handful of herbs that they could brew as a tea to quell any nausea she might feel. The grey root tea made its way up from the kitchens and the servant sent to direct someone to clean up the Queen’s accident, rescue the King’s boots and prepare a bath.

The physician also advised Sorcha and Alistair not to announce anything officially about the baby until after the three month mark, as more mishaps occurred before that time, than after; not to send to the kitchens for the herbs he’d give her, otherwise reports of her condition would be over the palace in minutes; and to try and eat. He would return in the morning to answer any questions.

Alistair saw Lovejoy out and turned a beaming smile on his wife; remembered the boots and tried to rearrange his face into lines of offended dignity; didn’t make it and burst out laughing. He flung himself onto the bed beside her where they held onto each other laughing until almost delirious. There were tears in both their eyes.

“My favourite boots.”

“Oh, my poor sweetheart. At least I didn’t throw up on your shirt.”

The news down in the kitchens; th _at the King and Queen were very chipper, what with her being ill and all._ After that the cooks sent up any and all delectable morsels they could invent to tempt the Queen’s appetite.

*******

All of Sorcha’s self-assurance was failing in the region of her knees on this auspicious morning. A protective hand rested on the barely perceptible swell of her belly and her heart clenched. Up till now Theirin had been her’s and Alistair’s alone; to laugh over, fuss over, talk to and about, wonder what sort of person he would become, who he would favour, professions of love and happiness, confessions of fears and anxieties. Their days and nights had been full of their baby and each other.That was going to change today and forever.

Alistair breezed into their room, strode to her, lifting her off her feet and moving her until her back was against a wall. He pushed his face in between her breasts. He stayed still for a moment drinking in bliss and then raised his eyes to hers.

“You all right? Feeling a bit wobbly?”

“How did you guess?”

“No guess. You're my wife. I remember you telling me about that night. I remember the dreams you had, talking in your sleep and saying how sorry you were that you didn’t save Oran. I know you don’t do it easily, but you trust me and you trust Fergus.” Sorcha’s grip around Alistair’s neck tightened. “You already have a good idea of how this will be; all the rest is over-thinking.”

She took a shuddering breath. “That’s what you used to tell me when we were facing a battle.”

“Are you ready to face this one?”

“I love you Alistair. Only you.”

“I love you. Always.”

Alistair set her lightly on her feet and straightened her clothing. He bent and gave Theirin a kiss through the sea-green silk brocade, finally escorting Sorcha out to the antechamber where Fergus Cousland awaited them.

The reunion between brother and sister was exuberant and affectionate. Sorcha fairly flew into Fergus’ hug and was left breathless after he spun her around several times. Finally Fergus held her out at arms length.

“Let’s have a good look at you.” His eyes narrowed. “So are congratulations in order or not?”

“Alistair!” Sorcha spun to glare at her husband, recriminations in her voice.

“Don’t Alistair me.” He mimicked her voice. “I never said a word.”

“Oh Sissy, please. I didn’t even have to guess.” He sat her down on the settee by the window. “First of all, it’s about enough time since you had the taint removed. Second, by all accounts you and your husband are _at it like rabbits_.”

Sorcha interrupted with a yelp, “By all _accounts_?”

“Shush. Now really, Sissy. Asking me to travel all the way from Highever to see the rebuilt family wing of the palace? What else was I going to think?”

Sorcha tried to look penitent but her joy was too bright and shiny a coin not to be spent freely. She was laughing, Fergus was laughing and Alistair was relieved.

Wine came up from the buttery, and tea, sugary cakes and savoury pies came up from the kitchens. The little family talked, laughed, teased, ate, drank and talked more. The concerns about Fergus’ response because of Oran’s death were dispelled.

“Of course I feel it, Sorch’. I still miss Oran so much, and yes, this brings back memories and the hurt. But for you and Alistair, I am so, so happy. And also, because you two will now visit Highever more than ever, there will be a child growing up (albeit partially) in the old stone pile.”

When Fergus had left on other matters, Sorcha came up behind her husband and twined her arms around his waist.

_“How much time do we have before Eamon and Teagan arrive.”_

_Alistair almost purred as her fingers started to undo the lacing on his breeches. “Certainly enough time for that, you saucy minx.”_

_“Well now that I know we have a reputation to keep up. . .” She slid long, knowing fingers inside his pants and over his burgeoning cock._

_“You wanton woman.”_

_Sorcha steered him to the wall, still with her hand on his penis. Alistair tried to turn to her but she kept him facing away. She pulled his pants open, freeing his cock and running the tip of her finger around the eye while she bit into the soft, white, sweet flesh of his arse. This body was her playground, her hunting ground and her still, warm, safe place._

_Slowly, Sorcha ran her fingers down the underside of Alistair’s penis, tickled the skin behind his balls, before sliding up between his cheeks. Spreading him open Sorcha returned her fingers to tickling his balls while she placed pressure on his perineum with her thumb and stroked the base of his spine with her tongue._

_Alistair’s breath was beginning to skitter in his lungs; was fretted with whimpers and bit-back moans. He supported himself against the wall with one hand; the other was kneading his thigh, trying not to take over his erection. He almost left his body when he felt a wet tongue slide and flick across his anus, followed by sucked in breath being blown onto it. His arse cheeks clenched as his hips shot forward. He wanted his wife before him now, to plunge into her so hard that he was half buried inside her._

_Suddenly she was gone from him._

_“Turn around Alistair.” Her voice was a lascivious whisper. “I want to taste your prick. I want to feel you pushing it into my mouth.”_

_Trying not to trip over his breeches, which were still around his knees, Alistair did just that. He took hold of the root of his cock with one hand and the back of Sorcha’s head with the other to establish a rhythm as she took him into her mouth. Her hands were on his hips, keeping time with his thrusts, her tongue trying to trap the head of his cock against the roof of her mouth, throat muscles working as she sucked and swallowed his pre-cum._

_Alistair’s balls felt so full, they were ready to burst; which they did as a long, moaning, in-drawn breath came to his ears from Sorcha. His hips slammed forward as his cum shot from his cock and into his wife’s mouth._

_As she rose to her feet, she drew Alistair’s smalls and breeches up with her. He tipped her head back kissing her gently and licking away spots of cum from the corners of her mouth. His arms tightened around her convulsively, pulling her close to his chest. Sorcha was the first to return._

“Alistair, love. We need to tidy up a bit. Don’t you think?”

“Perhaps we are just a tad dishevelled. Do you think Eamon and Teagan would notice?”

 

***

 

On the outskirts of Denerim, under the shadow of the fort tower was the manor house in which Madam Anora MacTir passed her days in confinement. She steadfastly refused to acknowledge Alistair as the rightful King and declined all news, conversation or gossip about him and his haughty, scheming wife.

Anora had thrown some verbal daggers toward the new royal couple, tried a little intrigue through her maid, Erlina and the results cost her dearly. On discovering her operations, Anora’s servants had been replaced by hand-picked palace spies and her mainstay, Erlina, had been packed off back to Orlais. She was a woman of bitterness and bile.

And yet, Alistair thought as he rode in through the gates, she lost none of her outward aplomb. Even without all the luxury she was accustomed to, she portrayed herself as much the ruler as she had ever been. She had gone back to the name Mac Tir in honour of her father and to distance herself from the ruling Theirins. The fact that she wielded the name as well as Alistair wielded a sword was a source of grim satisfaction to her (let them remember the man they murdered) although it scored her very few points.

Alistair’s mood had been morose at the prospect of this meeting. As he dismounted and his feet hit the ground he felt suddenly done with the whole thing. Almost throwing the reins into his squire’s hands he stalked up the steps and into the main hall.

Anora was seated by the window reading when Alistair entered. Unmoved by his unannounced arrival, she scrunched up the letter and tossed it into the fire. Alistair’s eyes flicked from the burning parchment to Anora’s face. The letter, now crisping into ash, she turned and gave Alistair an elaborate curtsey.

“May I offer your Majesty anything? Wine, ale, cakes?”

“Don’t bother Anora. I’m only here to pass on some news.”

“Please, don’t tell me the King of Ferelden couldn’t have sent a messenger.” Anora resumed her seat by the window.

“Sorcha and I, both being human type people, decided that this news should be delivered personally. I decided that should be me, rather than my wife.”

“Generous of you I’m sure, my Lord.”

Alistair’s patience was beginning to fray. “We thought we should be the ones to tell you that we are expecting our first child. Sorcha is pregnant and the baby is due late in winter. Periaqualis probably.”

Anora stiffened in the chair, became very still as Alistair’s words stabbed into her. A baby. A child made by two people in love. It was what she had always wanted. But, how much had Cailan really loved her in the end? She suddenly became aware of her situation and that Alistair was watching her closely.

“That’s wonderful for you. Congratulations.” The voice was a little stiff but Anora still managed not to sound bitter or dismayed. The Theirin line consolidated through the bastard son and his haughty cow wife.

Alistair gave her a sharp nod. He could understand what the words had cost her and granted her that much.

“Thank you Anora.” He turned to leave but Anora called him back.

“Alistair? Will you bring the child here? I would like to see it.”

“If possible, yes.”

This time Alistair made it out of the house, his mood not improved by having accomplished his errand. His suspicions were aroused by Anora’s seemingly easy acceptance of his news. Sorcha and he had discussed every possible rumour that could and probably would eventuate once the news of the pregnancy was announced. The most obvious being that the child was not actually his because as both were grey wardens children were not possible. Therefore, the Queen must have found someone else to father this child. They had laid bets as to how soon Anora would voice this assumption. Neither of them would win.

 

 


End file.
